


Malthael Bops the Bologna

by Nevada_Stranger (Grandpas_Cheesebarn)



Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo III
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Gen, Humor, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandpas_Cheesebarn/pseuds/Nevada_Stranger
Summary: A mortal Malthael gets to know himself.Thoroughly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InterstellarToaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarToaster/gifts).



> Alternative titles: Malthael gets biblical, Malthael's lonely mile, Malthael and the chamber of secrets, Malthael drains the cabbage, Malthael argues with Henry Longfellow.
> 
> Contains spoilers for the end of Reaper of Souls.

It was only a matter of time, really. 

 

When the Black Soulstone failed, and the Nephalem won, and Malthael lost, that probably should have been it for him. There's a reason why death is called no longer being alive. 

Except, somehow– and he still wasn't sure how– Malthael became mortal. He (very vaguely) remembers someone talking to him about it, and how he had to atone for his crimes before he could properly die. So, he became a mortal. A disgusting, terrifying pile of flesh and hormones, with needs for stuff like eating and sleeping and... urinating.

Which is to say, that Malthael wasn't very excited to be alive. At all.

Tyrael had been kind enough to give him a place to stay, with food, and a bed, and clothing that never felt comfortable no matter how he wore it. Tyrael, at least, had been understanding– after he'd laughed so hard he got some kind of stitch in his side. But even Tyrael couldn't stay in the house forever, explaining the significance of blinking, of all things. He had a job, surprisingly enough. Training other humans. Which was a lot like babysitting, in a way. 

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" Tyrael asked, for the third time. Malthael rose an eyebrow, and as with the two times before, responded by pulling the covers up over his face. Which made it really hard to breathe, actually, but also made a good point. Tyrael sighed, put upon, before finally strapping up his boots and leaving the room. He closed the door behind himself, the hinges creaking, before the house went silent. Malthael pushed the blankets back down, and sat up on his bed, glaring uselessly at the window, the rising sun spilling light into his room. It was too early. Ugh.

Malthael laid back down, burying his face in his pillow. Maybe, he could get some more sleep. If he fell asleep fast enough, he wouldn't hear the sound of training that extended until noon. Right outside the house. 

"Good morning, commander!" A chorus of voices shouted. Never mind. Malthael stood up again, getting ready to move to some other corner of the house, when a different sound caught his attention.

_Aaaah_

Malthael turned his head, blocking out the sound of overzealous training, focusing on the weak noise. Where was it coming from? 

_Aah_

There it was again. Malthael made his way across the room, to the other room, until he finally peered out the window and looked outside. There, off to the side, was another human. They were suited up in an impressive array of armor, enough that Malthael couldn't tell...what they were. Which he couldn't really tell on a normal day either, so he didn't mind. More important was the fact that the human kept making strange sounds in between stretches. Annoying noises, that also made Malthael slightly uncomfortable.

_Hng_

Malthael, against his better judgement, continued to stare. With the way the early morning sun gleamed off their armor, their halberd thrust into the air, they looked every bit an angelic warrior. Malthael slowly slid back down from the window, and averted his gaze, but the sounds remained. 

_Aaah_

Malthael shuffled on the floor, before crossing his legs together and tucking his hands in his lap. A moment later, he shifted position, but it didn't help. There was still an awkward feeling of pressure in his lower...torso. Abdomen. It was uncomfortable. The sounds from outside definitely weren't helping. Malthael cast a baleful glare up to the ceiling, and frowned. He decided to try and ignore the human's strange stretching ritual as the best he could, but another odd feeling curled feel inside him, and in some brief flicker of wisdom, he knew his problem was only going to get worse.

And apparently by worse that meant his dick rising up like a little recruit at attention.

What. 

Malthael fidgeted, but it didn't go away. In fact, that made it worse. He briefly debated going to find Tyrael, but the embarrassment quickly destroyed that idea. That just left Malthael sitting there, staring blankly, trying (and failing) not to move his hands. It just kept getting worse. Worse meaning larger, and Malthael would've felt inclined that that was bad, if it didn't also tingle slightly in...a weirdly pleasant manner.

_Gnf_

And the damned soldier kept making those noises. Tyrael really needed to talk with his recruits about those kinds of things. Malthael made to scoot away from the window, but then the soldier shouted something vaguely breathy yet satisfied, as their neck cracked or something, and Malthael's life got infinitely worse yet again. There was a very sizable tent in his loose pants, and he really wished he could go outside and crack the soldier's neck in a different way. That wouldn't solve his problem, though. 

Malthael, in lacking any other plans, and also not caring, just decided to...tug it. See where that got him. And after an experimental tug, Malthael realized that got him very far. In a very new and interesting way. He didn't know what that meant, but coupled with the sounds still drifting to the window from outside, Malthael was rapidly growing more and more flustered. Slightly sweaty. Very uncomfortable. Also, excited? That was weird.

Didn't stop Malthael from doing it a second time, of course. As he palmed his pants, another jolt of pleasure hit him, flushing his cheeks. With a little trepidation, Malthael carefully slid his hand under the waistband of his pants, sucking in a careful breath. Then, he slowly moved his hand to his shaft, his hips shifting slightly at the touch. 

_Aaah_

Compelled by the noises, Malthael began to cautiously stroke the flesh up and down. Each time, a little faster than before, until his usually steady breathing came in pants, his body trembling and hips pressing forward off the ground. The usual silence of the room was replaced by the sound of slicked up flesh, and Malthael's somewhat stifled moans. Occasionally, his hips would buck forward, the sounds from outside the window encouraging him to go faster. His mind was slowly muddled by a haze of pleasure, biting down on his free hand when he could no longer hold his groans in, his eyes screwed shut.

After one particularly strong gasp from outside, Malthael's eyes shot open, and he found his entire body tensing up. The pressure inside him, which had been steadily growing over time, finally reached a peak, and he found his back arching and his hand from from his mouth, a strangled sound tearing out of his throat. Thick spurts of liquid shot out of his shaft, coating the inside of his pants, sticky strands of white that stuck to his skin. Malthael's entire world was consumed by a sheering explosion of pleasure, wiping all thoughts from his mind. In that instant, nothing mattered. It was only him, and yes. 

The moment passed after a fashion, the high dying down, until Malthael came to, groggily realizing he was laying entirely on the floor, both hands pressed against the wood, his head still blurred ever so slightly. Fatigue enveloped him, and were it not for his dirtied pants, Malthael would've fallen asleep right there. Curiously, the noise from outside had stopped. Not the stomping of the recruits with Tyrael, but the strange singular soldier training alone. Hm.

Malthael gingerly stood up, before shimming out of his loose pants, using the soiled fabric to wipe himself down, careful around his still sensitive flesh. When that was done, he balled the pants up, and threw them into a corner to clean later. Tyrael probably didn't have to know. Thankfully, there was another pair nearby, and so Malthael slipped into them gratefully, before making his way out of the room and back to his own. He fell back into his bed in a happy daze, sleep gently tugging him back, and for once, nothing else mattered but that.


	2. Alternate POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the stretches progressed, the soldier almost missed the appearance of a face in the window of the house, peering down. Hidden behind their helm, the soldier stared back. The man staring looked a little lost, black hair and pale skin. His features were sharp, but blue eyes tired, baggy clothes that ruffled from the breeze. Malthael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 100% more alternate perspective from the unfortunate lone soldier.

The sun was shining, warming the dew off the grass and lightening the air. As the dawn finally arrived, a handful of ragtag humans made their way to the training grounds, most clad in some armor or another, occasionally wielding weapons in various stages of repair. Most smiled and greeted their milita trainer and commander, Tyrael. One took the opportunity to break away, going to the other side of the training grounds for a more secluded area. Their armor gleamed where others rusted, their weapon strong and sturdy where swords were chipped. Most beginner soldiers didn't see the reason to train in full armor (sweaty and hard to clean as it was) and neglected the skill. This solider was smarter. So while the main group performed basic weapon movements (block, parry, feint), this solider went about some daily exercises. Stretches in armor to limber up, while the cool wind of the fading night still lingered. They'd get back to the others when the actual training started again.

As the stretches progressed, the occasional small groan or sigh would escape them, sounds of strain through the plate helmet. They were alone, though, so didn't bother hiding the noises. The whole stretching thing was a little cathartic, and though the soldier wouldn't admit it, relaxing. Enough that they almost didn't notice the appearance of a face in the window of the house, peering down. Hidden behind their helm, the soldier stared back. The man staring looked a little lost, black hair and pale skin. His features were sharp, but blue eyes tired, baggy clothes that ruffled from the breeze. 

"Hng?" The solider grunted, as if that would cause them to go away. The man, however, didn't. The solider continued to stretch, wondering what the man was looking for, or maybe if he needed help of some kind. Come to think of it, that must have been commander Tyrael's brother. Mal-something. Malady. Malthael, that sounded right. The soldier considered stopping to go get Tyrael, but Malthael didn't seem to be in distress, so... the stretches continued. 

"Aaah," The solider seethed out, as they leaned forward, muscles burned and armor dug into their back. That meant it was working. Another glance back up, but this time, Malthael was gone. A noise of alarm escaped the stretching soldier, but they forced themselves to calm down. Malthael was an adult. Maybe he just had to go to the bathroom? He was fine. The soldier cracked their neck, shouting their relief, before continuing to stretch. Whew. 

"Ah," the soldier sighed after a particularly long stretch. They made to grab some water, grateful for the break, only to a sound to catch their attention. It was a little noise, coming from the room with the window, where the strange man once was. It sounded like a tiny squeak. The solider set their water back down, but kept a cautious eye trained on the room, searching for anything out of place as they continued their movements. There were more noises, like groans, drifting out. 

"Aha!" The soldier shouted, fearful realization. Malthael must have fallen down, somehow, and was hurt. At the sound of their triumphant shout, a long, drawn out, strangled sounding keen came from the window room, only confirming the soldier's theory. With that in mind, they dropped their halberd and sprinted forward into the house. There was no time to try and get Tyrael, and the soldier took each step two at a time, before bursting into the window room. Their eyes scanned around for Malthael, but all they could see was a pile of cloth in the corner. With slanted eyes, they rushed to the fabric, snatching it up in fear of it being blood. However, a peculiar scent caught their attention. Slowly, they opened the clothing up, only to find the insides coated with white. 

"Oh," The soldier blinked. That made sense. More sense than the man having collapsed out of nowhere. It would also explain why he had been watching the training. The solider cleared their throat, before turning back to the hall. Malthael was standing there, staring at them, because of course he was. 

"I, well, hm," The soldier fumbled for something to say, but all they could think of was how grateful they were that the helmet hid their face. Malthael didn't move or say anything, but he was staring with eyes blown wide, as if embarrassment was something new to him. 

"I should go," The soldier decided, unceremoniously dropping the soiled garments on the ground. They both continued to make eye contact, as the soldier slowly made their way down the stairs, and out of the house. By the time they had made it back to the training grounds, the main practice was about to start. Tyrael noticed them, and waved them over.

"I saw you leave the house. How does Malthael fare today?" Tyrael asked, pleasant and completely unaware. The solider took in a breath.

"Great!" They stated, and said nothing more on the subject again

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative POV: the soldier outside the window that could hear Malthael jerkin' his gerkin' (loudly).


End file.
